


Broken Thing

by JellyLovesFaith



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Jon Snow being an Honorable Fool, M/M, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, Things we didn't get to see in the GOT ending, Tormund is a sweetheart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 12:39:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18917185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JellyLovesFaith/pseuds/JellyLovesFaith
Summary: Jon finally realises he's allowed to have what he truly wants.





	Broken Thing

The first face he sees when he enters Castle Black is the face of Tormund Giantsbane. 

He was dreading coming back to the Wall ever since Tyrion told him of his fate. They were sending him back to the place he had died, where so many ghosts would dance around him as he slowly withered away. 

Ghosts of the ones he had lost – his brothers Rickon, Robb, Pyp, Grenn, Edd, and Theon. 

Ghosts of those who believed in him - Maester Aemon, Lord Commander Mormont, Mance Raider, Lyanna Mormont and Uncle Benjen. 

Ghosts of the ones who had hated him the most – Ser Thorne and Olly and so many others. 

And ghosts of the ones who had loved him the most – Ygritte, Dany, Lyanna and Ned. 

They would forever haunt him. All the times he let them down, all the times they suffered because of him. 

Perhaps this really was the best punishment for him. Perhaps spending the rest of his life surrounded by the ghosts of his past is his only way of atoning for the dishonorable deed he did.

But as he enters Castle Black, the more he wishes Drogon had burned him alive or Grey Worm had killed him. Being here, in this place, is _painful_. He still feels the ache of five different stab wounds given to him inside this castle.

Yet the moment he truly focuses his attention on his surroundings, his miserable thoughts slowly dissolve. Because at that moment, he sees Tormund.

There are Wildlings surrounding him and even a few men of the Watch curiously looking on, but all he sees is the man that comes up to him with quiet determination, his eyes a crystal blue, his hair kissed by fire. 

Tormund stands a few feet away from him, unsure of what to do. It’s the first time he’s seen this confident, self-assured man cautious of anything. Even when he was facing literal death, he had never looked so uncertain. 

Something inside Jon breaks when he sees the look on Tormund’s face and he quickly climbs off his horse and rushes to the taller man. It is a complete reversal of their usual greetings. 

Normally it is Tormund who barrels into him, enclosing him with warmth and comfort and so much safety. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care if he’s never run into the arms of anyone before, doesn’t care if all the Wildlings see him at his most vulnerable. Tormund is here and for some reason that he doesn’t quite understand, it means the whole world to Jon.

The taller man catches him instantly and Jon cannot help the tears that fall from his eyes, cannot stop the shudders that wreak his entire body. He hasn’t allowed himself to cry – to grieve. Not in a long tune. He never quite trusted himself to stop if he started. 

But he knows he’s safe with Tormund, knows the older man will let nothing, absolutely nothing hurt him, not even Jon himself. Tormund holds him through it, cradling him in his giant arms as if he - Jon Snow, a broken shell of a man - is something precious, something worth protecting. 

He hasn’t felt that way in so very long. It has always been him protecting everyone else, defending his people, being the shield that guards the realms of men. 

But here, in Tormund’s arms, he finally feels protected, finally feels safe. At this moment, every single thing he has done feels like it was somehow worth all the sacrifice, the pain, the misery. He may not have anything anymore. Not his kingship, not his honour, not his identity, not even his freedom. But at least he gets to have one last moment with Tormund.

He can here the wildlings whispering around him. 

Tormund once said they thought of him as a god. It must be terrifying to see a god fall apart. 

But when he finally feels brave enough to raise his head from Tormund’s shoulder, he doesn’t see disappointment or disapproval. He’s sees empathy in their eyes - and understanding. Things he has never really seen in the eyes of his own kind, not even the Northerners. At least, not directed towards him. 

He was always the bastard they cared nothing for, or the king they were forced to accept because of a threat they barely believed in. Even at the best of times, their love for him had always been shallow. 

He was no fool despite what people may think of him. The moment he rode South to meet the Dragon Queen they turned on him and latched onto Sansa. He doesn't even blame them. He's no king. He never wanted to be one.

But Sansa did and now they are hers to rule over and command. He knows she would be brilliant at it in a way he never would have been, just as long as she never trusts any of them. He can't live like that, not anymore. He can't spend the rest of his life constantly looking over his shoulder wondering who the next person will be to force him into a dark corner and stab him until all the blood slowly pours out of his body. 

Yet these people, these Free Folk, they are different. Ever since Hardhome they followed him - not because they had to but because they wanted to. Perhaps that is why he cares more for them than anyone else south of the Wall apart from his friends and family. 

‘They know what you had to do and why you had to do it,’ Tormund whispers in his ear, as if instinctively knowing precisely what Jon is thinking. Perhaps he does. Tormund has always been smarter and more perceptive than anyone gives him credit for. 

His hands clutch Jon’s waist tighter in an attempt to reassure him. And Gods, it _is_ reassuring. 

After so much loss, so much pain, so much torture, this stoic man against him, so alive, so overwhelmingly _alive_ , is truly reassuring. ‘They think you’re brave. Stupid. But brave.’

The more Jon looks at them, the more he sees it - the quiet, uncertain, hopeful smiles. 

‘We’re not like those Southerners Little Crow. We admire a man who sacrifices everything to do what is right. We don’t throw him out. We accept him, stupidness and all.’ Jon smiles into Tormund’s shoulder and feels more accepted than he has been in his entire life. 

‘Come let’s get you inside. You might be a mad fucker who rode a bloody dragon but you’re still a man. You still need some food in you,’ Tormund says and drags him inside the castle. 

The rest of the wildlings nod at him respectfully and disperse quickly, leaving only Jon and Tormund to enter into his room. 

His old room.  
The room meant for the Lord Commander. Is that what he is now? Back to the position that got him killed?  
Only this time, he will be surrounded by more ghosts than any sane person could handle. Perhaps the Targaryen side of him will come out of the shadows and he’ll finally go mad. He hopes someone has the decency to put him down before he turns into something he’d hate.

He resents the idea of being at Castle Black down to his very bones, but it is exactly what he deserves. For being dishonorable. For being a queenslayer. For being a kinslayer.  
Ned Stark raised him better than that. Yet he still betrayed his father’s memory. 

It doesn’t not matter that Ned Stark wasn’t his real father. He was the only father Jon had ever had, the only one he had loved. The one who had raised him, taught him, inspired him.  
The one he had betrayed.

Tormund pushes him inside and he is at once accosted by something heavy, and soft and white. White as snow. White as a ghost.

‘I missed you too boy,’ he says once Ghost has finally calmed down. He kneels beside his oldest friend and sinks his face into the soft fur. 

‘Right nightmare he was the whole time. Wouldn’t stop whining. And never left my side at night. Let me tell you, you grow very angry when you wake up every few minutes to a howling mess of a dog.’ Tormund grumbled from behind him. 

Ghost, much to Jon’s surprise, goes right up to Tormund and nudges his face into the man’s stomach. Tormund chuckles and pats the direwolf affectionately and locks eyes with Jon. 

He cannot think of anything to say. Never has Ghost been so openly friendly with anyone apart from him. ‘He stayed with you at night?’ 

‘Aye, every fucking night. For such a little man you have far too big a pet. But he’s helped us with hunting so I suppose he can stay.’ Tormund says as Ghost comes back to Jon to lick his face. 

Jon smiles and looks properly at Tormund for the first time since he returned and loses himself in those cerulean blue eyes – not blue like the Night King’s, never that.  
But they are the blue of an untouched sea, the blue of the Wall on a cloudless night, the blue of the morning sky. 

‘What will you do now Snow?’

‘Take my vows again I suppose. That’s my punishment.’

‘Your punishment?’ Tormund asks incredulously. ‘You save your worthless country from a mad woman who was gonna burn the whole damn place and they reward you by sending you to where you were murdered? What kind of fucked up shit is that?’

Jon sighs. He deserves this punishment. He’s been telling himself that ever since he set sail from Kings Landing, ever since he said his last goodbye to his family. But it does feel needlessly cruel, especially coming from Tyrion and Bran. Death would have been kinder. 

Then again if he had died, he would have never seen Tormund one last time. Now that he has seen the man again, held him again, he realises just how much of a tragedy not seeing Tormund would have been.  
He will always want to see Tormund just one last time. Perhaps he can persuade the red-haired man to visit him often. Perhaps that will be enough. Perhaps that will keep him sane. He doesn’t deserve more of Tormund after what he did anyway. Life has rarely been that good to him.

‘She was my queen. I betrayed her. I killed her. What I did was dishonourable. It is only fitting that I end up in a place for bastards and broken things with nothing but ghosts for company.’ 

‘Do you want to be here?’ Tormund demands, looking at him as if he has lost his mind. 

‘I never get what I want,’ he says and realises just how true that is. He never wanted to be the Lord Commander, he never wanted to be King in the North, he never wanted the Iron Throne. He was given a chance to have all of these anyway. And it brought him nothing but misery and regret. 

‘What do you want Snow?’ Tormund asks and Jon feels like crying again. How is it that this wildling with no sense of propriety, this warrior who kills ruthlessly, this man he has known only for a few years and has been his enemy for half of it, how is it that he is the only person who has asked Jon what he wants? Not even his siblings asked him that.

What does he want? He wanted only one thing when he was a boy. He wanted to be legitimised, be a true Stark, not just in blood but also in name. 

But he killed that boy a long time ago. And in his place, he let a broken, dishonourable man live. Ygritte was right. He really did know nothing in the end. 

He can feel Tormund’s gaze on him, so hot that it makes him feel like he’s burning. He knows Tormund won’t let it go until he answers so he resigns himself to admitting something he knows he can never have. Not now. Not after all he has done. 

‘I want to be accepted for who I am. Not a Stark, not a Targaryen. Not a king. Not a bastard. Just...a Snow. That’s all I ever was and that’s all I really want to be in the end. I want to do the right thing. To protect everyone I can. I want to be free.’ 

‘Good. We’ll start tomorrow,’ Tormund says. 

‘What?’ Jon’s confusion must show in his face because Tormund sighs and places a hand gently on his shoulder.

‘You’ll come with us. We are going beyond the Wall, to the real North. We only stopped because we heard what was going on in the South. I thought...’ he trails away but his gaze is like fire. 

‘What did you think?’ Jon asks, hope slowly filling his thoughts. 

‘I thought...I thought I’d wait. See if you’d come back or not. You’ve got the North in you. I knew you’d come back after it was all over. I just didn’t expect it would be this way but...the Free Folk will accept you. You’re a god to all of them. You saved them. You...you are more than accepted among the free folk. You can do the right thing and help us rebuild everything we lost. And you can be free. With us. With me.’

‘You’d let me?’ Jon asks in awe. He never expected Tormund would offer this but...the thought is more appealing than anything he has heard in years. 

‘Of course I’d let you Little Crow. There’s always a place with us for a pretty boy like you,’ Tormund chuckles as Jon blushes. ‘What will ya do here anyway? What are the Crows guarding now? Us Free Folk want nothing to do with the South and there are no white walkers to kill us all now. Why stay here when you can come with us? To the true North. Where you’ve always belonged.’

Jon shudders at the thought of it. The life he could lead if he were to join them. He could be free, truly free. Nothing would be expected of him, nothing he wouldn’t want to do anyway. He would have no ghosts forcing him into a spiral of despair. He wouldn’t be stuck in the miserable hell hole that is Castle Black, he’d be out there in the wilderness, with people who actually like him. Who want him with them.

‘What about my punishment?’ 

‘You’ve died for the Watch. Isn’t that enough? You’ve killed so that everyone that is ruling now won’t have to. Aye you’ve got blood on your hands and you may think you deserve to live your life in this shit place but I don’t. You saved us all. Without you, we’d have never beaten those dead bastards. You deserve to have what you want for a change.’

Tormund is right. It suddenly hits him hard with brutal force just how right Tormund is. Nothing is keeping him here. He’d be breaking no vows by going. And no one is around to stop him. He knows for certain that both Bran and Sansa won’t begrudge him his freedom from this exile, and no one would be prouder of him for making this choice than Arya. 

And perhaps he can get what he wants, just this once. With startling clarity, he realises he wants nothing more than to go with the free folk and be a part of them. Be with them. Be with Tormund. But he still has to ask the older man one last question before he betrays his king’s command for the first and last time.

‘What about us? Where do we stand?’ 

‘We’re friends.’

‘What if I wanted us to be more?’ he asks, knowing that asking this question is one of the bravest things he has even done - will ever do. It has been on his mind for so long, this need to be around Tormund. So much so that it has almost become second nature to him. But he needs to know what he is to Tormund in order to truly join the Free Folk. 

Tormund looks into his eyes and Jon is lost for a few moments in time. He only remembers where he is and what they are doing when he feels a large, warm hand wrap around his waist. 

‘Is that what you truly want?’ Tormund whispers, his lips nearly connecting with Jon’s own.

‘Yes.’ Jon breathes and barely hears the ‘Good’ Tormund mumbles before he is kissed more thoroughly, more passionately than he has been in his entire life. 

His eyes fall shut as his hands wrap around Tormund’s neck and drag the taller man closer, so close that they might as well be one entity. He loses himself in the kiss, so full of promise, so full of hope, so full of _love_. When they finally break away for air, he doesn’t know how long it has been. He doesn’t care. Tormund’s arms are all around him, his all-encompassing figure shielding Jon from the rest of the world. Everything finally feels so overwhelmingly _right_ for a change. They stay like that for a long time, wrapped in each other, slowly coming to terms with what they have just done.

Jon finally opens his eyes, only to be met with blue eyes that he knows for certain he will love for the rest of his life. Tormund smiles affectionately and runs his right hand through Jon’s hair, dragging him closer so that their foreheads are touching and their breathes are mingling. 

He feels something nudging at his side and looks down to see Ghost wagging his tail happily and leaning into both of them. 

Tormund chuckles. ‘Guess he knew all along.’

‘I suppose he did,’ Jon whispers and pats Ghost with one hand, making sure his other never leaves Tormund’s side. Maybe he can have this. These two things. Maybe he can keep them for as long as he lives. Maybe he doesn’t need to stay in the Watch after all. He gave his first life for it. He doesn't need to give his second as well. Maybe he can finally be free. 

He’ll still have ghosts walking beside him – but they’ll never drive him mad. Not with Tormund around to ground him, to love him. 

He may not deserve this happiness – he doesn’t think there’ll ever be a day when he’ll think he deserves it – but that will only make him cherish what he has now even more. 

‘What do you say Jon? Will you come with me?’ Tormund asks, his face lighting up like the morning sun. Looking at him as if he already knows Jon’s answer.

Jon smiles and leans in, breathing in the man that will be the centre of the rest of his life. 

‘I will.’

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts!


End file.
